Riddles Under the Bleachers

Maya felt like a straight-up zombie. Three hours of sleep, thanks to that AP History paper, would do that to you. She dragged herself to the Friday night game, clutching a papaya smoothie like it was her only lifeline to consciousness.

"You look dead," said Leo, dropping onto the bleacher beside her. "Like, actually deceased."

"Thanks, bestie. Really living for the compliments tonight." Maya rolled her eyes, but she was kind of glad he'd shown up. They'd been friends since seventh grade, back when they'd both been weird theater kids too nervous to actually audition.

A cat — some scrawny orange thing that definitely belonged to one of the neighbors — darted between their legs and leapt onto the concession stand counter. The lady working there didn't even blink. Apparently this was normal.

"That cat has more rizz than both of us combined," Leo said. "Look at him. He just walked up and demanded attention. Zero anxiety. Pure confidence."

Maya snorted. "He's literally rubbing against a cash register."

"Still. Iconic behavior."

The game was boring anyway. Their school was losing by like, twenty points. Maya found herself thinking about earlier that week, how she'd almost raised her hand in English class when Mr. Rivera asked about symbolism in "The Odyssey," and then didn't, because what if she was wrong? What if people laughed? But the answer had been so obvious — the sphinx riddle parallel, how Oedipus had to face his own ignorance to move forward.

Sometimes she felt trapped by her own overthinking. Like she was constantly solving riddles no one else even knew existed.

"Hey," Leo said, bumping her shoulder. "You okay? You went all philosophical-face."

"Just thinking about how I'm tired of being scared to say stuff." Maya sighed, setting down her smoothie. "Like, what's the worst that happens? I say something dumb? People forget in five minutes."

"Or you say something smart and everyone's like 'whoa, Maya's actually brilliant.'" Leo grinned. "Revolutionary concept, I know.

"You're annoying."

"I'm RIGHT though." He stood up and pulled out his phone. "Wanna bail? We can go to the park and I can attempt to teach you how to skateboard and fail dramatically."

Maya laughed. "I'd literally break every bone in my body."

"Exactly. It'll be iconic." He held out a hand. "Come on. This game sucks anyway."

She hesitated for exactly one second before grabbing it. Sometimes you had to be like the cat — just walk up to life like you belonged there, consequences be damned.

"Fine," she said. "But if I get hurt, you're doing my history paper."